


Love In Focus

by Imoshen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bit of bondage, Dildos, Gabriel meddles, Gabriel owns a bar, Happy Ending, Law Student Sam, Lucifer owns a club, M/M, Masturbation, Michael owns a restaurant, Modeling, Nobody Dies, Photographer Lucifer, Raphael owns a café, erotic modeling, home fires - Freeform, nude photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-04 12:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21197471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: Law student Sam earns some cash by modeling for photo shoots. When tragedy strikes, agent/bar owner Gabriel and photographer/club owner Lucifer join forces to help him get back onto his feet. Determined to pay them back as quickly as possible, Sam dares to step into the world of erotic photography with the man he’s had a crush on for months– and finds he likes how being in front of the camera makes him feel. But only after Gabriel intervenes does he see there might be a chance for him and Lucifer beyond the camera.





	1. An Offer

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Supernatural Samifer Big Bang 2019.  
Kudos go to my amazing beta, [CrowNoYami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowNoYami/pseuds/CrowNoYami)
> 
> The amazing art for this fic is by the awesome talkmagically, who did an awesome job as a pinch hitter for my fic. Thank you again!

The air inside the small room is stifling, a mixture of little oxygen, too much make-up and hairspray and a lot of people breathing and working.

Sam’s tired, he’s sweaty in the heavy winter coat he’s currently wearing, and the make-up on his face is growing more irritating with each new layer of powder the stressed-out makeup artist applies.

The assistant, a fellow student he recognizes from the library, calls his name and Sam pushes off the wall he was leaning against and walks up to the even hotter place in front of the backdrop, where the bright lights are doing their best to turn the space into an oven. He’s standing there for not even a minute before he can feel sweat run down his back. Why, oh why do they shoot winter clothes in summer?

This is how Sam Winchester earns the money to live while going to college.

He tried regular jobs at first and ended up working so many hours he could barely find the time to study, which really wasn’t helping his grades. But there were precious few options if he didn’t want to be even further in debt. Even if his family could support him, John Winchester would sooner turn into a full-on flower power hippie than support Sam, and Dean… well, he hasn’t spoken to Dean since that last epic argument that led to him walking out on his brother and father with nothing but two duffel bags and a chip on his shoulder a mile wide.

He’d already decided to try and find a job with less hours by the time he’d gone to work at the bar that night, and as fate had it, he ran into Gabriel.

_Back then_

“Hello, handsome.”

Sam takes a deep breath and makes sure to school his features before turning to face the customer who had spoken. It’s not the first time it happened, not even the first time a man tried that line with him, but he has a personal policy to never take anyone to his bed he might have to serve a drink to the next day.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you?”

And damn, it’s a bit of a shame, really, that Sam is rather inflexible when it comes to his personal policies, because this customer is cute. Not quite Sam’s type, but close enough he’d definitely be interested – if they weren’t in the bar he’s working at.

“Oh, he’s polite, too.” The man grins pleasantly. Sam relaxes a little. “Well, first you could bring me a cocktail – pick one from the menu, something sweet, please – and second, you could take five minutes and plop your pretty behind down on the barstool here and talk to me about an offer I’d like to make.”

Sam smiles and is charmed despite his intention not to be. “I can do the cocktail,” he tells the man with the warm brown eyes and impish smile, “but I don’t do that kind of offer, sorry.”

He may be an idiot for not flirting back and securing himself a nice tip, and risk an insulted customer on top of that, but Sam is also not one to lead people on. His customer blinks, then chuckles. “Not that kind of offer. I’m sorry, I keep getting told I’m an incorrigible flirt, but I promise that wasn’t the intention this time. Well,” an appreciative glance up and down Sam’s body, “not the sole intention.”

Sam actually feels himself blush a little. “Sorry… I’ll mix that cocktail.”

The man smiles and nods before returning his attention to his phone, and Sam uses the opportunity to retreat and regroup – and mix something he kind of hopes the man will enjoy. When he sets the martini glass down in front of his customer a short while later, the man takes it in for barely a second before he starts to grin. “Oh, good guess.”

Sam’s lips twitch. “Try before you praise me.”

“Oh, I absolutely will.” The man picks up the glass and delicately licks a little bit of the chocolate shavings off the rim, then takes a sip of the cocktail. The noise he makes is almost pornographic, but thankfully quiet enough no one else notices.

“What is this?” is the first question after his customer is done enjoying the sip. “It’s delicious!”

“Thank you,” Sam replies, smiling again. “It’s called the Extreme Chocolate Martini, and you should drink it while it’s cold.”

The man nods, taking another sip. This time, it’s without the pornographic noise, but his enjoyment is still obvious. Sam mentally pats himself on the back for making the right choice. Before he can turn and walk down the bar again – and really, it would be for show, Jay has everything under control and the crowd has thinned considerably in the past hour – the man sets the glass down and looks him in the eye. The flirty spark that was there before is gone. He’s still looking friendly, but something makes Sam pause and re-evaluate the conversation.

“My name is Gabriel,” his customer tells him quietly, “and while I own a bar that’s a bit fancier than this one, if I may say so, _and_ my offer is a job offer, it’s not for your skills with alcohol. Though those are apparently impressive, too.”

Gabriel takes another sip of his cocktail with an appreciative hum as Sam can feel himself blush a little.

“I’m Sam. What kind of job offer are we talking about?” he asks to distract himself. Gabriel smiles.

“Well, see, my husband and I also dabble in everything to do with advertising. Mostly him, to be honest. Websites, TV, newspapers… we find the models, the photographers and camera crew… you get the drift.”

Sam nods, blinking. Not at the husband part, but he’s wondering where this is going now. What kind of job could a modeling agency possibly have for him?

“Balthazar is a lot better at this than I am,” Gabriel mutters, taking a deep breath. “So, I’m just going to tell you the details. We’ve got a photo shoot coming up for a series of ads, and I saw you move behind that bar and Sam, you’d be amazing in front of a camera. So, want to be a model?”

Sam stares. Gabriel takes another sip of his cocktail and sighs. “Look, I’m not pulling some kind of prank on you. Look us up, take your time. Here,” he reaches into his jacket and slides a card over the bar that Sam takes on instinct, still staring, “both my husband’s and my phone numbers are on there, and so is our website. Think about it, Sam, and call if you have questions or if you want to take me up on the offer. We’ve got four days until we need an answer, okay?”

Sam shakes himself and nods, glancing down at the card. It’s stark and modern in design, displaying just the names _Gabriel Alighieri-Roché_ and _Balthazar Roché-Alighieri_ as well as two phone numbers, an email address and a website. Sam frowns. Gabriel Alighieri…

“Wait,” he murmurs, staring at the card, then Gabriel again. The man raises an eyebrow and sips his cocktail. “Gabriel Alighieri. You’re the owner of _Il Campanile_.”

Gabriel grins and nods. “Yep. And you’re wasted on this place, Sammy, so think about it, okay?”

Sam looks down at the card again, turning it in his fingers once. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I will.”

Sam goes home that night on autopilot, his mind on the on the weird conversation and the little card burning a hole into his pocket. As soon as he’s home, he sits down and uses his old, crappy laptop to research the hell out of Gabriel Alighieri-Roché, Balthazar Roché-Alighieri, and their “little” agency. Which turns out to be not so little at all. Sam sits and scrolls and stares, reading through all the information available online, and before he knows it, he’s also researching Gabriel’s bar, and then the restaurant, café and club that share the building and are owned by Gabriel’s three brothers.

When he finally sits back, his head is swimming with all the new information, and he does what he always does when he needs a second opinion. Sam knocks at Jess’ and Charlie’s door. Jess takes one look at him and follows him to the room he nominally shares with Ty – who practically lives at his girlfriend’s place. Sam can’t blame him, she’s a Boston native and lives in her parent’s house; he’d move in, too, if he could.

“What happened, Sam?”

He tells her everything; from his decision to find a new job, to the conversation with Gabriel to everything he learnt online, to his utter certainty that he is not, absolutely, decidedly not, model material.

Jess nods along, and then snorts at him.

“Oh yes, Sammy, you are,” she informs him dryly. “And if Mr. Alighieri-Roché wants you, he’ll have a reason for that, too.”

Sam isn’t convinced, especially because he knows models don’t really earn that much if they don’t get lucky and land a big deal. Jess shrugs.

“I know the Alighieri-Rochés pay their models decent money. It’s not immediate wealth, but it’s enough to exist on, at least. And maybe, if Mr. Alighieri-Roché likes your skills mixing cocktails that much, you can score a job in his bar. Its got to be better than the place you’re at now.”

She’s not wrong, and after a day of careful thinking and deliberation, Sam calls and tells Gabriel Alighieri-Roché he’s taking him up on his job offer.

The following week is insane. Between courses, homework, the job at the bar he’s keeping for now to be on the safe side, Jess’ crash course on how to move in front of a camera and meeting with Gabriel and his husband, Sam doesn’t know if he actually slept more than a few hours every night.

But he likes both Gabriel and Balthazar, who is a mix of snark and innuendo and utter competence at his job. He sits Sam down and explains every part of the contract to him, answers all questions Sam has. When Sam finally signs his name on the document, he feels good doing so.

He learns that this advertisement job is for the Alighieris themselves, who want to haul their entire online presence over. He learns that he’s supposed to be behind the bar of Gabriel’s _Il Campanile_, because Gabriel refuses to have his staff do that on top of their actual shifts.

And to his great surprise, Sam has fun in front of the camera. Despite the heat, the make-up, the endless holding of poses and expressions, he enjoys the shoot.

Sam quits his bartending job a month later.

_Now_

Sam sighs in sheer relief when he’s finally done and can wash the makeup from his face. He usually doesn’t mind the stuff, but today the artist used something that itched. Sam takes a few minutes to make certain it’s all gone before he packs up his bag and heads out of the studio, waving goodbye to everyone still there.

He takes the bus home, exhausted and feeling mildly disgusting due to the sweat drying on his skin and wants nothing more than to take a shower and have a nap before he works on the essay that’s due in a few days.

He’s barely taken a seat when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Sam sighs and pulls it out. The message is from Lucifer Alighieri, and Sam starts to smile without noticing as he reads the short line of text.

** _I heard you’re working with other photographers again, Sam. I’m wounded._ **

Sam grins as he types his reply.

** _Well, you refuse to shoot fashion._ **

The message has barely been received when the app tells him Lucifer is typing. Sam waits, and chuckles when he sees the answer.

** _I do shoot fashion, but the kind that would make you blush and faint._ **

Sam has been to Lucifer’s club, _Il Volta_, and has seen the black-and-white photographs on its walls. Gabriel told him they are all Lucifer’s work, and while they’re tasteful, and carefully cropped to be risqué but not pornographic, Sam has a very good idea what kind of fashion Lucifer refers to.

** _See, that’s why I need to work with other photographers from time to time._ **

Again, Lucifer is typing almost as soon as the message arrives.

** _I’ll have a fitting punishment for you next time, Sammy. _ **

Sam grins and shifts a little in his seat. He can almost see Lucifer’s slow smirk, hear him murmur the sentence in that slightly mocking tone. He’s had a slight crush on the blond man since the first time he stood in front of the man’s camera. Lucifer flirting with almost everyone he likes, doesn’t help.

What does help is the distance, so Sam dares an answer he probably wouldn’t if they had this conversation face to face.

** _Sorry, Master, I’ll ask permission next time._ **

To be safe, he adds a winking emoji and hits send before he can re-think. Then he groans and closes his eyes. _Please don’t take it the wrong way, please don’t take it the wrong way_…

His phone vibrates again, and Sam peeks at it from between his lashes.

** _See that you do._ **

Lucifer added a devil emoji and a winking one, and Sam laughs, relieved that Lucifer seems to have taken his answer in stride.

His room is dark and silent, and Sam throws the clothes he wore into the hamper and hurries for the shower, intent on being clean again. Neither Jess nor Charlie are home yet, and Ty is at his girlfriend’s house. Sam wraps a towel around himself for the short trip from his bedroom to the bathroom, and sighs in relief as he steps under the hot spray. The shower stall is a little cramped for someone his size, but the water pressure is decent, and there’s always enough hot water, so Sam really doesn’t complain too much.

He stands beneath the hot spray for long minutes after washing his hair, just enjoying the sensation of the water on his skin. If he closes his eyes, he can almost fool himself into believing it’s a lover’s touch (and it has been way too long since Sam took anyone to his bed, even for a one-night-no-strings-attached deal) and since Sam’s still feeling a little turned on by the image of Lucifer, smirking at him as he murmurs about finding a punishment for him…

Sam breathes out and closes his eyes and conjures up his fantasy. In his fantasy it’s after a shoot in Lucifer’s studio, and he’s using the luxurious shower the man has for his models, and maybe Lucifer would finally _catch a clue_…

_My, my, Sammy,_ the fantasy in his head croons, _need a hand with that?_

“Yes,” Sam whispers. “Please, Lucifer, need it.”

_Go ahead, then_, comes the low murmur, _touch yourself, Sammy. Nice and slow._

Sam obeys, sighing as a hand wraps itself around his cock. His strokes are slow and teasing, and Sam moans and rocks his hips a little.

_Need it a little faster, hm?_ The rough murmur is amused now, and Sam blushes and nods. He’s trembling already, he hasn’t indulged like this for a while and now the low burning arousal is quickly fanning itself into a blaze. “Please,” he breathes.

_Not yet,_ Lucifer decides, and Sam whines softly. _Play with your nipples a little._

Sam reaches up with one hand to circle one of the hard nubs, biting his lower lip. His nipples are sensitive, and the added stimulation has his cock twitch in his hand. He moans softly as he drags a careful nail over the nipple and gives a full-body shiver.

_Pretty,_ his invisible audience tells him, and Sam can hear the smirk. He blushes harder, the hand on his cock picking up the pace a little. “Oh, please,” he breathes, flicking his nipple again. He whimpers at the sensation.

_Yeah, I think you’re ready,_ Lucifer croons. _Go ahead, Sammy. Come all over yourself. Let me watch._

Permission given, Sam picks up his pace further, panting for breath as he strokes himself hard and fast. His body tingles, and then he’s muffling his moans with his palm as he comes over his hand.

The still-hot water washes the evidence away, and Sam leans his face into the spray and keeps his eyes shut for a while longer, pretending he didn’t just jerk off in the shower to a fantasy of someone he occasionally works for. Or with.

Good thing he doesn’t have to be face-to-face with Lucifer for a few days yet.


	2. A Dance For The Devil

Sam goes back to ignoring his crush on his part-time employer (as best he can. He dreams, sometimes, and those dreams always have him bite his pillow when he wakes) and spends several days pretty much camped out in the library, working on two different assignments.

On Friday, his phone vibrates with an incoming call from Gabriel. Sam is at home for a change, though still sitting over his essays, and accepts it immediately, eager for an excuse to escape his books for a while.

“Hello, Trickster.”

“Heya, Samshine.” Gabriel’s greeting is jovial as always, but Sam immediately detects a hint of stress in his tone.

“What happened?”

Gabriel laughs a little, and Sam can hear him take a deep breath. “One of our models just proved that I really need to do better background checks,” the other man tells him. “We have a request for male on male for a series of photos, nothing indecent, a bit of kissing, a bit of cuddling, fully clothed… and he balked on us and said a lot of things I won’t repeat. Point is, we’re short one tall, dark and handsome, and I had hoped you might be willing to play pinch hitter?”

Sam snorts, but he’s already closing his book and getting up. “Don’t tell me I’m the only confirmed gay model in your arsenal, Gabe.”

This time, Gabriel’s laughter is more honest. “No,” the other man agrees, “you’re not, but you’re one of the few who a), have the right size and build for the clothing that’s required and that we already have on hand and b), don’t make a fuss if I call them on short notice.”

“Where do I need to go?” Sam asks, already busy packing his bag.

“I’ll text you the address, Samalam. Thanks, you’re a star.”

Sam changes into public-appropriate clothing and shoots a quick text to Jess and Charlie to cancel dinner plans for tonight. He gets teased a little by Jess, but it’s all in good humor. The text from Gabriel arrives just as Sam leaves the house, and he’s in luck and catches the first bus he needs.

At the location, some new hotel Sam has vaguely heard of, he’s greeted by familiar faces. Katie throws a three-piece smoking and a shirt at him and Hanna, as she always does, makes happy noises over his clear skin. He’s feeling comfortable in his skin and the clothes and is smiling and relaxed when he walks into the main room, and it’s really fucking unfair nobody warned him.

Because the man behind the camera has blond hair and blue eyes and is laughing with the other model right now, and Sam feels an irrational spike of jealousy. He swallows that down fast as he crosses the room to them, and his poker face must still be good because neither Lucifer nor the other model look at him strangely. Sam holds out a hand to the younger man with a smile. “Hi, I’m Sam.”

“Matt, hi.” The handshake is short but firm, and then Sam turns to Lucifer with a grin and shoves his crush on the man down so far it should take an archaeologist to unearth it again.

Lucifer grins back and pulls him into a hug with a grip on the hand he held out, squeezing once. Sam allows himself a second to enjoy the contact and take a deep breath (drawing Lucifer’s scent in, and who is he kidding, his crush is already digging its way back up).

“If you start feeling uncomfortable with anything,” Lucifer murmurs into his ear, so low no one else can possibly hear it, “tap the side of your nose, and I’ll call for a break.”

“Thank you,” Sam whispers back, and then Lucifer releases him from the hug, back to his flirty self so fast Sam almost believes he imagined the low murmur if Lucifer hadn’t held his gaze for a single heartbeat with the tiniest nod.

Sam listens as Balthazar and Lucifer explain what they need, and then he and Matt get a few minutes to get comfortable with each other as Lucifer finishes setting up equipment and takes a few test shots.

“Who’s leading?” Matt asks with a grin. Sam finds he has to grin back, the sparkle in Matt’s green eyes is just too charming to resist. And he’s going to dance with this man, and probably do a little bit more than dance, damn soon. Might as well take the offer for what it is.

“I vote we take turns and see what works best,” he offers. “I also know how to dance, so there’s that.”

“As long as we’re talking waltz or something like that, I’m okay,” Matt agrees, still grinning. “Shall we dance for the Devil in the bright lamplight?”

Sam laughs, he can’t help it, and Matt’s grin widens as he takes a step back and holds out a hand. As Sam takes the offered hand he silently wonders if Matt’s flirtation is for the job or for real – and if he maybe should try and find out, take him up on it if it’s the latter. It’s been quite a while, and maybe that way, he’ll manage to make his crush on a man that’s utterly out of league more bearable.

Sam and Matt dance for the Devil, and then they change rooms and exchange meaningful glances over a set dinner table. The food on the plates is already cold, but it still looks and smells delicious, and Sam blinks in utter surprise when Lucifer calls a break after they’re done.

“I’m hungry, and I bet you are, too,” the photographer tells them dryly as he sits down at the table. “The owners promised to feed us, and now’s the perfect time.”

“Trust Luci to have his priorities straight,” Balthazar teases as he and Hanna and Katie join them, settling down at their table and the one next to it.

“It’s the only straight thing about me,” Lucifer smirks, utterly unconcerned, and everyone else snorts (Sam and Katie) or giggles (Matt and Hanna) or outright laughs (Balthazar).

The promised food is more than decent, and Sam doesn’t want to know the regular price tag. Instead, he enjoys tender meat and crisp, fresh salad and adds the meal to the list of reasons he’ll get his degree and find a job with a decent paycheck so he can eat fresh salad more than once in a blue moon. (Hey, he has to take whatever motivation he can find.)

“And now for the intimate part of the evening, gentlemen,” Lucifer finally prompts. “We’ll change locations.”

_Change locations_ means everyone and their stuff relocate to a spacious hotel suite that Sam kind of wants to move into right away. (The main reason, aside from the view, is the shower, which appears to be big enough Sam could stand in it comfortably.) Lucifer walks straight into the bedroom to set up his camera, everything else is already in place. Sam suspects either hotel staff or Lucifer bringing extra gear. Katie and Hanna set up their domain in the small sitting area while Lucifer is busy making last-minute adjustments, Gabriel disappeared somewhere after dinner, and Balthazar leans against a wall and watches everything with a wry smile. He does touch Sam’s shoulder when he passes him by after Katie touched up his make-up.

“I know this is your first time doing anything like this in front of a camera,” the older man tells him quietly, sincere for once. “If you start feeling uncomfortable with anything, call for a break. Nobody’s going to blame you or look at you differently, okay?”

Sam smiles and nods. He wonders what exactly the client wants that both Lucifer and now Balthazar feel the need to reassure him it’s okay to ask for a break if he needs it – and then he wonders if he seems that innocent. (The answer is probably, yes. Damn.)

They start out innocent, too, just a close, intimate embrace in front of the windows, then in front of the bed. Lucifer positions them with soft commands – “tilt your head a little further Sam… yes, perfect… put your hand on his chest, Matt… little higher… yes, like that…” They go through several poses like this, stepping ever closer, touching with more confidence. Sam’s hands end up almost cupping Matt’s ass, and Matt smirks up at him, head tilted back just so, playing with the tie around Sam’s neck. It’s almost an invitation, and Sam finds himself leaning in until their mouths nearly touch. Matt’s eyes darken a little, his hands slipping to Sam’s shoulders. Sam watches him, trying to read in his expression if he’s okay with this, and Matt’s smirk widens before he takes that last step, cupping the back of Sam’s head with one hand and tugging him that last bit it takes for their mouths to touch in a soft kiss.

Matt’s lips are warm and a little dry, and it’s been way too long since Sam kissed anyone, even this chastely. He sighs a little and tugs Matt closer, tilts his head a bit further, and Matt makes a soft noise and _yields_…

“Perfect,” Lucifer’s soft whisper is enough to break the spell, both for Matt and for Sam. He pulls back and glances to the side, can feel himself blush beneath the make-up. Matt takes a deep breath, Sam can feel and hear it, but the other man doesn’t step back, doesn’t stiffen.

“Need more?” Sam asks, surprised at how low his voice is. Lucifer emerges from behind his camera with a hard-to-read expression on his face.

“You both comfortable with more?” he asks in return. Sam shares a glance with Matt and shrugs when the other man raises an eyebrow.

“I guess we are, yes.”

“Damn, Sammy, going all out, are we?” And there’s the teasing again, and Sam relaxes tension he didn’t realize he held and laughs.


	3. A Real Problem

It happens at night. Sam is jolted from a nap at his desk by the shrill sound of a fire alarm going off, and then he smells the smoke.

The room is dark except for the light coming in through the window from the streetlights outside, and when Sam hits the light switch, nothing happens. Cursing, Sam grabs the flashlight and bolts for the door, and that’s when his Dad’s drills kick in.

_Do you want to get yourself killed?_

He can hear John’s voice yell at him, and damn if his Dad wouldn’t be right. Sam takes a deep breath, counts to three and rests his hand on the door, relieved when he finds it cool to the touch. The flashlight reveals there’s already smoke coming in from the top, and Sam bites his lip. He shouldn’t open the door and risk letting more smoke in, he should dial 911 and open the window, call for help, but Charlie and Jess are home tonight. He needs to know they are awake, too.

The distant wailing of sirens tells him someone already called the fire department, so he takes another deep breath and dials Charlie’s number. She answers immediately, and Sam nearly sinks to his knees in relief.

“We’re okay for now,” she tells him, and even though her voice is trembling, he believes her, because she’s speaking at a normal speed. “Stuffed bedding in front of the door and opened the window. Don’t be the hero, Sam.”

“Okay,” he tells her, and her mentioning it reminds him that there’s still smoke coming into his room, so he hurries to rip his comforter off his bed and stuff the fabric into the gap between the door and the floor. He opens his window and looks out – his side faces the street, and true enough, he can already see the red lights flashing in the night. “Fire department’s coming.”

It feels like hours until Sam can climb over his windowsill and into the relative safety of the rescue platform, but he knows it could only have been minutes. He and the bag he hastily grabbed are handed over into the hands of the EMTs, and when Sam gets his first good look at the house, he needs both the blanket they wrap around him and the stretcher to sit down. The entire right side is already on fire, as is the whole lower level. They would’ve had zero chances of escaping via the front door.

Next to be handed to the EMT crew taking care of Sam is Charlie, pale and trembling, and then Jess follows. They huddle together, feeling lost and in shock, as all around them controlled chaos rages.

The fire does a lot of damage to the house before the fire department gets it under control, but at least nobody is injured or killed by it. A tired-looking police detective questions them for a few minutes, but he’s heard that the fire department is already suspecting arson – there’s apparently a pattern, Sam learns, and has no idea what to make of that information. By then it’s painfully obvious that they won’t be returning to their house for quite a while.

“Do you have anyone you can call?” The man who introduced himself as Detective Arthur Ketch asks. Sam’s about to shake his head when his phone starts vibrating, and when he looks down to where he’s still clutching it tightly, Lucifer’s name flashes on the screen.

“Can I take this?” he asks, looking up, and Detective Ketch nods, handing over a small card with his information. “If you need to find a place to sleep, find me,” he tells Sam gently. “We have emergency services for this kind of situation.”

Sam nods and answers the call as Detective Ketch walks over to the next person to question. “This is Sam.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” is the immediate answer, and Sam blinks at the sheer _relief_ in Lucifer’s voice. “Are you okay, Sam?”

“Not injured,” Sam reports, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “But… well.”

Lucifer makes a noise that signals agreement and understanding. “Where are you?”

“Still at the back of an ambulance,” Sam tells the other man, not sure why Lucifer is asking.

“Alright. Sit tight, I’ll find you.”

With that, Lucifer ends the call, and Sam blinks at his phone in utter confusion.

His questions are answered a few minutes later, when a bemused-looking Detective Ketch returns, Lucifer in tow.

“Thanks, Ketch,” Lucifer says when they come to a stop next to the stretcher Sam’s sitting on. “Can I take him with me?”

“Sure, he’s free to go. We’ll call probably tomorrow and see when he can come down to the station for a statement.” Detective Ketch glances up at Sam with an apologetic expression. “Needs to happen, Mr. Winchester, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sam mumbles, staring as Lucifer and the Detective nod at each other before Ketch walks away again, clearly pulled away from some task by escorting Lucifer here. The club owner turns to Sam and holds out a hand in invitation.

“Let me take you home, Sam? You can crash on my couch for the night.”

That offer is a thousand times better than any other option Sam had come up with in the past hours, and he nods and takes Lucifer’s hand, lets the other man pull him up and through the firefighters and EMTs and policemen to where Lucifer’s car waits, parked in between two patrol cars. Lucifer shrugs at Sam’s incredulous look.

“Ketch is a friend,” is all he offers before opening the door for Sam.

Sam has never been to Lucifer’s apartment before, but as soon as he’s inside the quiet car, away from the smells and noise and the flashing red lights of the fire engines, a tide of exhaustion begun pulling him under. He closes his eyes, clinging to the bag on his lap as Lucifer drives through the dark streets. When they arrive at the building, he only opens his eyes when Lucifer kills the engine, the car already parked in a parking spot in the underground garage. Lucifer is smiling at him, one of his small, true smiles, and Sam’s stomach does a little flip-flop despite everything.

“Let’s get you into a shower and horizontal,” the older man murmurs, and Sam nods and follows him into the elevator and then through a hallway and into an apartment like a tired child. He only notices a lot of marble at first, then wood and muted lights, and a spacious shower and steaming hot water. Somewhere along the way, his bag disappears, and then his clothes disappear, too, and are replaced by clean boxers and a t-shirt that’s obviously old and worn but fits him.

Finally, blissfully free of the scent of smoke and fear and feeling clean again, Sam pads out of the bathroom and down a hallway lit only by a tiny lamp on a table. There’s only one doorway that’s spilling light into the hallway, so Sam does the logical thing and heads toward it. The room turns out to be the living room and contains Lucifer. The other man looks up as soon as Sam appears in the doorway.

“Feel better?” Lucifer asks quietly, and Sam nods. He’s too tired for words, the quiet of the apartment and the hot shower have soothed his nerves better than any medication. He just wants to sleep, and Lucifer seems to understand that. Sam is guided down the hallway again, Lucifer’s hand on his shoulder warm and comforting, and then there’s a comfortable bed waiting for him.

Sam is out like a light as soon as his head hits the pillow.

The next morning brings the realization that the bed Sam slept in is not located in a guest bedroom. The first clue Sam gets when he wakes are the book on the bedside table and the glasses sitting folded on top of it – not the usual décor for a guest bedroom. The next hints are the clothes thrown over a chair in the corner, and a half-open door beyond which he can see the beginning of a walk-in closet. Sam closes his eyes again and buries his face in the pillow, and ends up with Lucifer’s scent in his nose, and at that point, any and all explanations other than _I slept in Lucifer’s bed_ fall flat.

But Lucifer showed him to the bedroom himself. Sam feels a little better at that thought and allows himself a minute of enjoying the knowledge he’s in _Lucifer’s_ bed. Then he reluctantly gets up and manages to find the way back to the bathroom by himself. The apartment is quiet around him, and when Sam stands in front of the mirror, he gets the explanation. There’s a note stuck to the glass surface, written in the same wide, loopy penmanship Sam has seen on the rare occasion Lucifer jotted down notes during a shoot.

_Sam,_ the note reads, _I’m so sorry to leave you alone, but I had to get to work or else Michael would kill me. Feel free to help yourself to breakfast, and you’re welcome to stay if you want. I left a key on the kitchen counter and the doorman knows to let you in. I’ll be back sometime this afternoon after I, hopefully, survive my brothers._

_Lucifer_

_P.S.: Please call Gabriel, he’s worried about you._

Sam smiles. He finds a still-packaged toothbrush waiting for him, and then the clothes he managed to grab last night, obviously freshly washed because there’s not a hint of the acrid smell of smoke anymore. Sam gets dressed and makes a mental note to thank Lucifer. He eats breakfast (okay, a cup of coffee with milk and a slice of toast with butter and honey, he can’t stomach the thought of anything else right now) and then takes a deep breath and picks up his phone.

The day gets progressively worse from there.

The house is a) in danger of collapsing and b) a crime scene and no one is permitted to go inside even to retrieve anything. Sam is even more grateful he stored the important papers in a single place and managed to grab the lockbox yesterday, because everything he left behind? No chance he’s getting his hands on anything soon, and even if he does, chances are high it’ll all be rendered useless by the water damage anyway.

He needs to come in for questioning, but at least he has a couple of days before they want him to show up. Sam privately guesses the people who were not in the house when the fire started are the more likely suspects than Sam, Jess or Charlie.

College administration is utterly unable to cope with the situation. Apparently, there are no emergency plans for something like this in place or someone fucked up really badly and they're trying to cover it up. The woman he speaks to flat-out tells him he’ll have to find a place to live until they figure out what to do, because there’s no room in their budget for housing more students in hotel rooms or private apartments.

Sam grits his teeth as he recalls the large sum of money which he (and everyone else) pays every damn year and manfully refrains from shouting at the woman. She’s not the one making the decisions.

Most of his professors are relieved to hear he’s alive and well and are willing to grant him extensions on his homework, except, of course, for Professor Robert W. Uriel. Sam is summarily informed that, a house fire isn’t that much of a hindrance to finish his homework on time, Sam should have grabbed his books (or perished with them in the flames, is strongly implied) and there will be no extensions from something as trivial as this fire. Sam grits out a marginally polite “Yes, sir,” and hangs up before cursing the Professor and several generations of his ancestors and offspring.

The only bright point of the day is the phone call with Gabriel, who sounds just as relieved to hear Sam isn’t injured as Lucifer was last night.

“We’ll talk, kiddo,” Gabriel promises him. “I need to get the bar ready for tonight, but tomorrow’s our day off, and I promise we’ll talk, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam agrees, exhausted by numerous phone calls and too much information being thrown at him at once. The notepad he used to take notes is a mess of sentences, arrows and circles to show which refers to what, and Sam stares at it as if it might hold the answers to all his problems.

He’s homeless, he needs to re-buy pretty much every textbook he needs, he owns exactly three pairs of boxers, two jeans, three t-shirts, a sweatshirt, a pair of socks, a pair of sneakers, and his wristwatch, and he needs to finish his essay for Professor Uriel within a week to get full credit.

Sam stares at his notes and wonders if Lucifer would mind him raiding his alcohol stash.

As it turns out, Lucifer doesn’t mind. He arrives maybe half an hour after Sam reached the conclusion that his life has managed to hit a new level of rock bottom. Sam manages to refocus on something else than the list of problems he needs to find solutions for as soon as Lucifer appears in the kitchen.

Sam has never seen the man in a suit, much less the stark black-and-white one he’s wearing today. The only point of color is the ice-blue tie.

“Wow,” he manages, and Lucifer snorts.

“I covered for Raphael in a meeting with our bank,” the photographer tells him, already reaching up to undo the tie and open the topmost buttons of his shirt. “As much as it annoys me, looking the part always helps with those stuck-up idiots.”

The suit jacket and the tie are thrown over an empty chair, and then Lucifer gets a good look at Sam. He halts in his tracks to the fridge, makes a detour, and sets down a glass of what Sam thinks is whiskey down in front of him before he sits across from him. “What happened?”

Sam takes a deep breath, picks up the glass, and starts talking, because if nothing else, Lucifer has proven to be a friend to Sam, and he needs a shoulder to lean on right now. As he lays out the facts, everything becomes a bit more overwhelming than it was before, when it was just ink on paper.

“So basically, I’m fucked,” Sam finally concludes and finally takes a sip of the alcohol. It is whiskey, and good one. “I know Gabriel said we’d talk tomorrow, but I can’t see how he’ll have enough jobs to earn that kind of money and still have the time to… do all of that.”

Lucifer hums, running his fingers along a line in the wood of the table. “There is an option,” he murmurs, “and I think that’s what Gabriel wants to talk to you about. It’s not what you did before, not even that bit in the hotel recently… but I think you noticed that job earned you more money, yes?”

Sam nods. He’d figured it was either because the job was well-paid or because he _did_ make out half-naked on a hotel bed with Matt in front of a camera.

“There’s more money in nude and erotic photography,” Lucifer continues, peering up at Sam from beneath his lashes, probably to gauge his reaction. Sam just nods, because yeah, he’d figured showing off everything God gave you would get paid better than modeling with clothes. “And I always have customers who want that kind of art, either for their homes or for clubs. Most of it is just body shots, nothing too graphic… but you _would_ be naked, and there’s always a chance someone manages to identify you by a mole or a scar or something.”

Sam shrugs a little. He does have a scar where they removed his appendix when he was fifteen, and one where a ricocheting bullet from one of Dad’s mandatory lessons on the shooting range behind their house dug a groove along his shoulder, but he figures those can be covered by make-up. “Still doesn’t really help with the immediate problem, though,” he murmurs tiredly, resting his forehead on his notepad. “My credit card is already screaming, and I basically have _nothing_. I’ll probably have to find a bank that’ll agree to give me another loan just so I can buy clothes and books.”

Lucifer is silent for a moment, and Sam uses the pause to sip on his drink again, staring at the notes he made. The deadline for Professor Uriel’s class is in two weeks. He needs new textbooks immediately if he wants to have any chance at finishing that essay. He knows there’s zero chances of getting his hands on a copy from the library or even a fellow student at his point. Everyone needs their book right now.

“Alright, let’s break this down into levels of importance,” Lucifer finally tells him, sounding as if he’s come to a decision. “What’s the most important three things on your list right now, Sammy?”

Sam blinks and stares at his list. “I need a place to sleep,” he murmurs. “And I need to finish at least one essay within the next two weeks. And… I guess more than three pairs of boxers might be nice?”

Lucifer laughs and nods, pointing to Sam’s list. “Fresh sheet Sammy and let’s start from the top. Strike the part about needing a place to sleep, you can use my guest bedroom.” He shrugs when Sam stares at him, the question open on his face. “I was too tired to make it up last night, figured a night on the couch wouldn’t kill me. We’ll give college administration a couple of weeks to pull their head out of their ass and see if they find a solution, and if not… well, there’s always options.”

Sam writes his lists while Lucifer reads over his shoulder, and he only realizes what the other man intends to do when Lucifer fetches his laptop and pulls up the homepage of a local bookstore.

“You can’t… I mean, I don’t… Lucifer!”

Lucifer chuckles and sips his water, adding another textbook from Sam’s list to the virtual basket. “Yes, I can,” he then tells Sam. “You need help right now, I’m in a place where I can provide that help, and you can pay me back when the insurance money comes through.”

Sam stares at the other man and tries to come up with an argument to counter him. It takes a moment until he realizes he won’t find one, because one way or the other, he would’ve had to find someone willing to lend him money. Why not accept the offer from a friend who wants to help instead of going to a bank that would charge interest?

Lucifer seems to see the result of his thought process before Sam opens his mouth to relent and nods. “You’ll have your hands full trying to keep Gabriel in check tomorrow,” he promises, then smirks a little. “Congratulations on your first deal with the Devil, Sammy.”

The joke is old, Sam has heard Lucifer use it before, but he laughs, nonetheless. He needed that light moment, that bit of silly nonsense. “What, no little black book for me to sign?” he quips back, reaching out to take the offered hand and shake it. Lucifer laughs, too, and something in Sam relaxes. This is still Lucifer, still the friend with whom he can crack jokes most other people would roll their eyes at.

“Now, what else do you need that we can get started on right now?”

Sam hands over the list labelled “college”. “Pretty much all of this,” he admits, and watches with a strange sort of nervousness as Lucifer works his way through the list.

Maybe he didn’t quite hit a new level of rock-bottom.


	4. Almost Unreal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: here is the first piece of the awesome art [talkmagically](https://talkmagically.tumblr.com) did for me! Please give her some love as well!

Shopping with Gabriel isn’t quite as horrible as Lucifer made it sound, Sam discovers the following day. Or well, as soon as he admits defeat and lets Gabriel choose his clothes. He’ll have to ask Lucifer for a total later to know how much he owes.

They work their way through several stores following Gabriel’s plan to avoid forgetting anything, and Sam must admit Gabriel has a decent fashion sense. Still, by the time they’re done (and the back of Gabriel’s car is piled high with bags from different stores) he feels drained. Sam climbed into the passenger seat of Gabriel’s car and decided he’s not setting foot into another store today, when Gabriel looks him up and down and gets that impish look Sam’s learned heralds either trouble or fun (or both).

“One more stop,” the man decides, ignoring Sam’s pained groan, and pulls into traffic.

When they park, Sam stares at the sign of the store they’re facing and can’t help the furious blush spreading over his face. Gabriel chuckles.

“I’m not going to watch what you buy,” the other man tells him, “that’s TMI even for me. But here,” he hands over a credit card and undoes his seatbelt, “I am going to buy something fun for my husband, and you are going to buy whatever you want for yourself.”

If possible, Sam blushes harder. He remains seated for a moment after Gabriel disappeared into the store, staring in turn at the credit card Gabriel handed him, and the storefront. He’s certain he’s still blushing when he finally finds the courage to leave the car and enter the store.

Considering he’s determined to start working off his debt to Lucifer, buying a toy or three is probably a good idea.

Lucifer’s “guest bedroom” turns out to be a spacious room that holds not only a bed, but also a corner with a desk, a bookshelf with a few books already inhabiting it, and a small bathroom. It “only” has a shower, sink and toilet, but for Sam, it’s utter luxury.

That first evening, he’s more than overwhelmed by it all, and finally goes to sleep with most of his newly purchased possessions still in their bags and boxes, neatly lined up along one wall. It feels unreal the next day, too – waking up in the same apartment Lucifer lives in, sleeping in such a comfortable bed, having access to a shower that’s big enough Sam can stand comfortably in it. For a few days, Sam keeps feeling caught on the wrong foot, unbalanced. He finds he really doesn’t like the feeling. But what they say is true, getting used to good things is easier than getting used to bad ones, and Sam finds he settles into his new routine faster than he anticipated. It helps that Lucifer’s apartment is perfectly sound-proofed and Sam can work uninterrupted if he so chooses. He even manages to get his crush (mostly) under control.

The trip to the police station to speak to Detective Ketch is one Sam makes accompanied by Michael Alighieri, who apparently was informed of everything that happened by both Gabriel and Lucifer. Sam stares when Michael shows up at Lucifer’s apartment just in time to intercept him before he leaves, but the oldest of the Alighieri brothers reassures him within a few sentences.

“It’s both a favor to my brothers and a safety measure,” Michael tells him as they make their way down to the garage. There will be no public transport for Michael Alighieri, of course. The man is dressed impeccably in a suit that obviously cost a bundle of money and just as obviously understates exactly how much money it cost. Sam has been around Lucifer, Gabriel and Balthazar enough to spot the difference. “Detective Ketch is not quite a friend of the family, but I know him from when I worked in the DA’s office several years ago.”

Sam stares and silently realigns his mental map of Michael Alighieri. The older man notices, of course, and chuckles. “I take it my brothers did not talk about occupations before Raphael sprung his idea on us?”

“No,” Sam admits, shaking his head, and Michael must have decided he likes him, because he starts talking about those past occupations, going so far as to offer Sam a helping hand should he want it regarding his homework.

“I miss practicing law sometimes,” the eldest Alighieri confides as they pull into a parking spot near the station. “This is a welcome opportunity to dip my toes back in the pool, so to speak.”

Sam has to admit it’s helpful, having someone else there – especially someone like Michael Alighieri, who commands respect simply by being in the room. He hasn’t had much contact with the police before this, but he remembers the one or two times as a teenager when Dean or Dad pulled some kind of stunt, there was a lot more waiting involved than this time. Detective Ketch takes his statement and promises to call if he learns anything new (and Sam guesses that’s not standard procedure, because the Detective glances at Michael before making the promise) and within an hour and a half, Sam’s done and can return to re-settling into his life.

Sam manages to finish the essay for Professor Uriel in time, and since he’s got a bit of breathing space on the others, he insists he can go back to doing shoots and start paying Lucifer back. Lucifer and Gabriel both disagree at first, wanting him to concentrate on college, but Sam is stubborn and points out that he’d be doing the same if the fire hadn’t happened. The brothers finally relent after Balthazar volunteers to make certain neither Sam nor Lucifer end up at a disadvantage.

A month after the fire that so utterly uprooted Sam’s life, and he’s in front of a camera again.

It feels unreal, too, to be walking around inside _La Chiesa_, as the Alighieri Brothers named the building housing their businesses, when no one is there but him and Lucifer. Sam asked Gabriel once about the history of the building and learned that parts of it had once been a monastery in Ireland, one that had been abandoned centuries ago. When the plot of land where it stood was sold and the old buildings were slated for demolition, Raphael somehow found out about it and convinced his siblings of his idea.

Sam doesn’t want to imagine the cost of painstakingly taking the construct down in Ireland, shipping it to the US, and rebuilding it, not to mention adding onto it to fit in a bar, a café, a restaurant and a club. He must admit, though, that Raphael’s idea was genius. He enjoys being inside the building, both when it’s filled with customers and now, when everything is closed and it’s just him and Lucifer.

Sam’s more than glad about that. He really doesn’t want too big of an audience for this, because while he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he’s nervous. Exchanging a few kisses with a nice guy in front of a camera sounds a lot easier than posing mostly naked.

Lucifer seems to know he’s nervous despite Sam wearing his best poker face, because he takes his time in setting up his camera and allows Sam to look around the spot he’s decided on. It’s a beautiful place, with the sun streaming in through the high, colorful windows that mimic the famous arched windows and rosettes of gothic cathedrals. The colored glass creates gorgeous shapes on the floor and the polished wooden furniture, and Sam is suddenly curious to see how it’s going to look on his body, his skin. He takes a deep breath and sheds his warm terrycloth robe, turning to look at Lucifer. “Ready.”

As it turns out, Lucifer is really good at making Sam relax and forget there’s even a camera involved. His voice is low and soothing as he directs Sam into different positions. He’s sprawled this way and that all over one of the lush, deep armchairs he’s nabbed from Raphael’s café furnishings, and when he closes his eyes, it’s surprisingly easy to get lost in Lucifer’s softly murmured commands. The sun is warm on his skin through the glass, and after a while, he even forgets he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black silk boxer briefs that he earlier thought leave way too little to the imagination, and an unbuttoned white dress shirt.

Sam has no idea how much time has passed until Lucifer’s low commands change from “turn a little to your left” or “pull up your right leg” to “now, run your fingers down your chest for me”, but he complies before his brain has caught up. He shivers and can feel his cheeks flush, but Lucifer’s low praise of “perfect, Sammy,” gives him the confidence to continue the teasing touches. He can feel his dick thicken a little with lowkey arousal, but not even that bothers him at that point.

Eventually, Lucifer asks him to shed the shirt – “slowly, give me a bit of a striptease, yes?” – and at that point, Sam feels confident enough to open his eyes and keep them open, to watch Lucifer as he complies. He wants to imagine the older man looks just a little flushed, too, but that’s probably because the room is warm and Lucifer has been moving constantly, taking photos.

Lucifer has him stretch and hold several poses, and Sam lets his eyes drift shut again and allows himself to get lost once more in the feel of warm sunlight on his skin, the slight burn of his muscles the longer he holds a pose, his own teasing touches and Lucifer’s low murmur.

He thinks he can get used to this.

Sam finds that the more shoots he does with Lucifer, the more confident he becomes. Lucifer always shows him the final product before sending them to the clients, or adding them to his own portfolio, and at first Sam can’t believe the body he sees is his own. (Lucifer kept his promise to keep the pictures anonymous, and if he didn’t _know_ it was him, Sam admits he probably wouldn’t have known.)

He progresses from wearing open shirts and tight underwear to almost no underwear to strategically placed scraps of cloth, and by the time his body decides to produce a full erection during a shoot Lucifer has told him is going to end up on the walls of his club, Sam doesn’t even care. He feels sexy and attractive, half-tied up in white sheets of cloth and sprawled on a black sheet, and that shoot gives him jerk-off material for _weeks_.

The confidence bleeds over into his everyday life, too, he notices – there are flirts with several girls and a few boys, but Sam is self-aware enough to know that he’s still way too hung up on Lucifer to even consider dating anyone else.

He and his right hand (and the toys he bought with Gabriel’s credit card) are very well acquainted by now. He’s lucky in that Lucifer is present in his club most nights and comes home very late, so he can be as loud as he wants.

The day he spent mostly on that black sheet, mock-tied up in different poses, Sam comes home with arousal still singing in his veins. (And when did he start thinking of the guest bedroom in Lucifer’s apartment as “home”?) Of course, that day happens to be the day Lucifer is home, too, because the club is closed on Mondays. Sam goes to bed with a smile and a “Good night” and then really tries to go to sleep – for about ten minutes.

His dick is still partially hard, and even settled comfortably in his warm, soft bed Sam’s feeling twitchy. When he closes his eyes, he’s back on the black sheet, feels the white cloth around his arms and legs again, hears Lucifer’s low voice murmuring gentle commands.

Sam rolls onto his back and pushes the blankets away with a sigh. He won’t be able to sleep until he takes care of that low, insistent arousal… and as for Lucifer, who’s probably still up in the living room, working on the pictures he took that afternoon? Well, he’ll just have to be quiet.

Sam sheds the t-shirt and boxers he wore to bed and stretches, rolling onto his side briefly to get lube and his favorite toy from the nightstand drawer. That one is for later, but Sam slicks his right hand up and sets the bottle down within reach. Then he closes his eyes again, and his fantasy has him back on that bed, in front of Lucifer’s camera, on display for the other man – but this time, he’s naked and aroused. Sam waits, holding his breath.

_‘Now that’s a pretty sight’,_ the Lucifer in his fantasy croons, lowering the camera. His eyes travel up and down Sam’s body slowly. _‘Go on, I can see you need it. Touch yourself – slowly.’_

Sam complies, hissing as his wet fingers touch his dick. He runs teasing fingertips up and down the shaft, biting his lower lip to keep his moan in as he hardens further under the touch. “Please,” he breathes, “please I need more.”

Lucifer hums, slowly stepping around Sam’s sprawled form. “_I can see that_,” he murmurs, pausing at Sam’s feet. “_Stroke that pretty cock for me, Sammy._”

Permission given, Sam wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking. He can’t help the low moan breaking free from his throat or his hips twitching upwards into his hand. Lucifer laughs, and it’s a rough, sexy laugh Sam has never heard from him before.

“_Greedy little thing today, are we? Legs nice and wide, let me see what I’m working with._”

Sam blushes furiously as he complies, pulling his knees up and spreading his legs as far as he can. He knows the position puts everything on display, he’s seen it in enough porn clips, and the thought of _Lucifer_ wanting him like that, camera still in hand… Sam whines softly.

“_Now aren’t you a sexy sight_,” Lucifer breathes, and then Sam blushes harder as he hears the telltale _click_ of the camera being used. “_Go on, Sammy. Play with yourself, I wanna see what gets you off._”

Sam’s breathing faster now, and he trembles as he takes his hand off his dick to reach for the lube with both hands. He manages to slick his hands up without dropping it or covering his whole chest in the stuff, and then he wraps his hand around his dick again and trails the other lower, and he really doesn’t want to tease himself, wants to plunge straight in, but the idea of putting on a show for Lucifer is too hot to resist. Sam rubs a fingertip over his hole, back and forth, covering it in slick lube, until he can’t take it any longer and _has_ to push in. He bites his lower lip to keep the moan muffled, and Lucifer groans as the camera clicks again. “_Little tease_.”

Sam whines softly and pushes in deeper, shifting a little as he works himself open as quickly as he can while still putting on a show. His dick twitches every time he pushes in deep, and he wants… “More, please!”

“_Put in two fingers then,_” Lucifer orders, still in that rough, sexy whisper, and Sam shivers and complies, arching up off the bed as his body stretches around the digits. He works faster now, enjoying the slight burn of the muscles being stretched just a little too fast, and his lower lip throbs with how hard he’s biting and sucking at it to keep his noises down.

“_Such a hungry little thing_,” comes Lucifer’s voice again, and Sam twitches and barely manages to muffle his moan of “Please!” It elects a low chuckle from his audience. “_Want to have something bigger than your fingers, Sammy?_”

Sam nods, not trusting himself to keep his voice down if he speaks. He shivers as he spreads his fingers, pulling his hole open further. The camera clicks again, and Sam knows he’s blushing all the way to his ears by now.

“_Pick up that toy you’ve got there, then. I bet that’s going to stretch you open prettily, no?_”

Pulling out his fingers has Sam gasp and clench around nothing, and he trembles as he reaches for the lube and the toy, slicking it up as fast as he can with his already slippery and trembling fingers. His cock is leaking onto his belly, and Sam knows he won’t last long once he’s got the toy inside. He needs to use both hands to fit it against his hole, and he grits his teeth as he pushes the tip in.

“_Such a sexy sight_,” Lucifer murmurs, and over his harsh breaths and muffled moans, Sam can hear the camera clicking again and again. He whines and applies more pressure, and the toy slides in further, thick silicone stretching him open and providing perfect stimulation. The ice blue toy is his favorite for several reasons, one being the small nubs on part of its surface that are now rubbing perfectly over his insides. “Please,” he whines, rocking his hips up helplessly.

“_Yes_,” Lucifer breathes. “_Do it, Sammy. Fuck yourself on that._”

Gasping, writhing in need, Sam complies. His cock twitches on his belly, leaking constantly now, and he’s so close, so damn close… he manages three thrusts with the dildo before starting to beg, barely managing to keep his voice down.

“Please, Lucifer please let me come, please need it so much so full Lucifer please I can’t…”

A rough moan and another _click_ of the camera, and then Lucifer’s voice.

“_Come for me, Sammy._”

Sam does, arching up off the bed as he clenches down on the toy. His dick spurts hot come onto his belly, and Sam moans and whines, writhing on the bed as his entire body twitches in the throes of his orgasm.

Calming down takes its sweet time, and Sam catches his breath slowly, relaxing bit by bit until he’s sprawled in a boneless mess on the bed. He whines and shivers as he slowly pulls the dildo out of his hole, moaning softly as he clenches down on nothing.

Finally feeling as though he won’t fall over if he tries to stand, Sam rolls onto his side and gets out of bed slowly. A quick wash in the bathroom later, he curls up in bed again, pulling one of the spare pillows into his arms.

As he drifts to sleep, part of him wishes Lucifer had really been there.


	5. A Dance With The Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: and the second piece of the awesome art [talkmagically](https://talkmagically.tumblr.com/post/188840645919/heres-the-art-i-made-for-mrsimoshens-submission) did for me! Please give her some love as well!

The next few weeks pass largely uneventfully. Sam continues living in Lucifer’s guest bedroom – co-habitation with Lucifer proves to be effortless – and doing shoots (both the erotic ones with Lucifer and the regular ones for Gabriel’s and Balthazar’s agency), and he even dares to take Michael up on his offer. That results in long conversations (mostly by email) about the intricacies of law, and Sam would have been perfectly happy to carry on like this for the foreseeable future. But then a phone call from Gabriel shakes everything up again – though later, Sam will admit it’s not in a bad way.

As per Gabriel’s request, Sam meets him in Gabriel’s bar. The place has already opened for the evening, and Sam made the effort to dress up so as not to be too much of a sore thumb in the elegant surroundings. As a rule, people who come to dine or drink at _La Cattedrale_ or _Il Campanile_ have money and like to show it, and Sam feels marginally better about showing up there if it’s not immediately obvious he really is a starving student. (Well, not exactly starving anymore. Lucifer refuses to let him buy his own groceries. Sam wonders how he’ll ever get used to the life he lived before again once they find a place he can stay, or college administration finally sorts their shit out.)

The glass elevator going up on one inside wall of the former bell tower is already packed with a group that seems to be a birthday party, so Sam takes the stairs winding up the other side. By the time he arrives on the balcony that runs along the inside walls of the tower and grants a view to the restaurant down in the former nave through its glass railings, Gabriel is waiting for him, and Sam hides a frown at the uncharacteristically earnest expression on Gabriel’s face.

He gets a hug as a greeting nonetheless, and Gabriel leads him to a table that’s a little secluded. They order drinks (non-alcoholic for Sam, because he wants to have a clear head for this conversation) and only once those have arrived and they’re as private as they’ll get, does Gabriel start talking about what he didn’t want to speak about over the phone.

“I really didn’t want to meddle in this, but honestly Sammy, I just can’t take it any longer or I’ll probably say something I’ll regret.”

Sam stares, his drink forgotten halfway to his mouth. He’s rarely seen Gabriel this serious, so he’s a little worried what the other man might spring on him now. He clears his throat. “Gabriel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gabriel takes a sip from his drink, and then another, clearly gathering courage. Sam watches, and his nervousness grows worse. When Gabriel starts talking again, he almost misses the words. And then he stares. “Come again?”

“I said, I’m pretty sure my brother is in love with you. Or at least in lust. Please don’t ask me to repeat everything he said to me, because he might just kill me.”

Gabriel looks relieved to finally have said the words and sips his drink again. Sam stares and wishes he’d opted for an alcoholic drink after all.

“How… why?” he finally manages, shaking his head a little. Sure, there’s been flirting as usual, and he’s spent quite some time in Lucifer’s company the last two months due to circumstances, but he thinks he’d have noticed something like this.

…or possibly ignored it as his own wishful thinking. Sam frowns.

“He’s been waxing poetic about you for the past weeks, Samalam,” Gabriel informs him with a pained face. “Going on and on about how you’re getting better and better at the naughty shoots, and how wonderful it is to have you in his space. How pretty you are – can’t argue there – and how he’d just love to make a move but can’t since he couldn’t be sure you’d reject him if you didn’t want him because of that whole lending you money thingy… and while I see the issue, personally I think you wouldn’t have a problem telling him to fuck off if that was the case, right?”

Sam slowly realizes he’s staring, gaping. He closes his mouth and swallows, and finally set his glass down. The idea that Lucifer has been talking about him like that is wreaking havoc with his ability to think straight (part of him giggles hysterically at his choice of words.)

He must have worried Gabriel, because there’s fingers in front of his nose suddenly, snapping. Sam blinks and refocuses on Gabriel. “Yes?”

“You were staring into space and I got a tiny bit worried there, Samshine.” Gabriel pushes Sam’s drink back into his hands. “Drink, and then talk to me, please.”

Sam complies, draining his glass. The cold liquid manages to restart his brain a lot better than Gabriel’s snap, and he shakes himself once. “Sorry,” he murmurs, setting the empty glass down. “Just… really?”

Gabriel leans back and nods. “Really, Sammy. I’m not telling you anything further because my big brother told me all of that in confidence, but I know he really won’t make a move… and I’d like to see him happy.”

Sam makes a soft noise of agreement, his thoughts going in a hundred directions at once. He’s pretty sure by now Gabriel isn’t pranking him, and the possibilities…

“Sam?”

Sam looks up from his empty glass and manages a smile at the anxious look on Gabriel’s face. “Sorry,” he repeats. “Just… I didn’t expect that.” His words don’t change the anxious expression, and Sam takes a deep breath and decides to take the plunge. He’s trusted Gabriel and not regretted it before; he just hopes this time isn’t the exception from the rule. “I needed a moment to make sure it wasn’t wishful thinking.”

The anxious frown on Gabriel’s face deepens, then disappears as the other man starts grinning broadly. Sam bites his lips nervously, but Gabriel doesn’t reveal any really elaborate prank. Instead, he gets up and hugs Sam, back to his exuberant self. Sam laughs and hugs him back, and with that the tension in the air is gone. Gabriel releases Sam and goes to fetch them fresh drinks, and when he returns, he’s smiling again, relaxed and clearly relieved his interference didn’t backfire. “So, you’ll talk to him?”

Sam nods and tells him “yes”, but even as he speaks, he starts to think that talking probably won’t cut it. “In fact… can you help me with something, Gabriel?”

Gabriel’s grin widens. “I’m all ears, Samshine.”

True to his word, Gabriel delivers. Just a few days later, Lucifer approaches Sam about a request for a shoot, and Sam happily agrees.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy doing these,” Lucifer teases him with a smirk as he sets up his equipment in the small room he uses as a home studio. Sam chuckles.

“Just a bit,” he admits, watching Lucifer fiddle with the settings on the camera. He’s already seated on the low sofa they’ll use as a prop for the shoot, dressed in a pretty kimono as per the “request” Gabriel forwarded to Lucifer. The silky fabric feels amazing against his skin, and Sam seriously considers stealing this for his personal wardrobe.

Lucifer finishes setting up his equipment and turns to Sam, smiling a little. “Up and at ‘em then, Sammy.” He gestures to the sofa. “We’ll do a couple poses like this and then we’ll proceed to the… decorations.”

Sam blushes and nods, studiously _not_ glancing at the neat coil of ice blue shibari rope lying ready nearby. He’d worked this request up together with Gabriel (and hadn’t that been just a bit embarrassing) but he has a part to play here so as not to make Lucifer suspicious… and the thought of Lucifer using that rope on him, even with nothing more in mind than a few raunchy photos, is enough to get him hot under the collar.

They set to work, with Sam draped over the sofa in seductive poses, all of which show off his long limbs. The kimono gets draped over his otherwise naked body strategically to hide and hint, and Sam suppresses a shiver every time Lucifer’s low voice orders him into another position. He’s hard already, but neither man mentions it. Sam’s just glad this isn’t the first time he’s sprung a boner during a shoot and this one he can easily blame on the teasing of all that silky fabric over sensitive skin.

Sam also keeps his eyes open, or peers at Lucifer from beneath his lashes, and with the knowledge that it’s not just wishful thinking, he notices the signs of arousal in his photographer.

Finally, Lucifer lowers his camera and stretches before walking up to Sam, rope in hand. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks softly, and his gaze is searching Sam’s face closely. Sam nods.

“Yes,” he reassures Lucifer, using the opportunity to stretch. He notices Lucifer’s gaze dipping lower for a heartbeat before focusing back on his face. “Just tell me you’ve got scissors handy.”

Lucifer nods, pointing to where they’re resting on a table along with water bottles and assorted odds and ends. “Alright then,” he murmurs. “We’ll start off slowly.”

Sam sheds the robe and turns his back to Lucifer, crossing his arms behind his back. They talked about what he’d be comfortable with and what the job requested before and agreed on this as a starting point. Sam is glad about it now, because it allows him to hide how much this arouses him. That it’s _Lucifer_ who’s so obviously capable of handling ropes makes it even better.

Lucifer wraps rope coils around his upper arms and connects them to his wrists, the point where the ropes are wrapped around each other pressing against the center of Sam’s back, and Sam shivers a little when the ends of the rope trail over his lower back once Lucifer is done with him. “Okay?” Lucifer asks softly, obviously having caught the shiver, and Sam nods.

“I’m fine,” he promises, and grimaces a little as he notices how his voice has dropped and become rough. Damn.

Lucifer returns to his camera, walking back and forth to get different angles as Sam kneels on the sofa facing the back, his ass resting perfectly on his heels. He takes deep breaths to calm himself. It’s getting closer and closer to where he’ll find out if Lucifer truly is interested in him – and willing to act on it.

“You can relax a bit Sam,” Lucifer finally murmurs, and Sam breathes a sigh as he goes from keeping his back ramrod straight to a more relaxed position. He turns his head to watch Lucifer go through the photos he’s already taken, waiting. Finally, Lucifer nods. “I think we’re done, Sammy.”

Sam allows himself a smirk and shifts up onto his knees again, resting his chest on the backrest of the sofa. He spreads his knees further apart and takes a deep breath.

“We’re not,” he tells the other man, finally allowing his voice to dip into husky territory. “I need you, Luci,” and gets to watch as Lucifer looks up and freezes, eyes wide and an absolutely surprised expression on his face. It quickly morphs into unbridled lust before Lucifer gets a grip on himself again, carefully setting his camera down as if on autopilot.

“Sammy?”

Sam bites his lower lip and dips his spine a little. “I talked to Gabriel,” he murmurs, watching Lucifer step closer as if drawn on strings. “He didn’t tell me much, but it was enough. Please, Lucifer… I really want you to act on that. Right now.”

Lucifer makes a soft little growly noise that has Sam’s hard dick twitch in arousal. He’s probably already leaking onto the sofa and the thought has him flush a little and shift in place. He watches as Lucifer’s eyes travel the length of his body, positioned so open and vulnerable, and shivers as they turn darker with arousal. Lucifer raises a hand but doesn’t touch him yet. Sam bites his tongue to keep the needy noise in and watches as Lucifer walks around the sofa to kneel at the back, his eyes level with Sam’s face.

“Are you absolutely sure you want this, Sam?” Lucifer asks, finally looking him in the eye. Sam nods. “I really want you. Please.”

Apparently, that was what Lucifer needed to hear, because the next thing Sam knows is that he’s being kissed. It’s not slow or soft or anything first kisses usually are. Instead Lucifer cups his head with both hands to hold him still for a kiss that is deep and hungry and has Sam whining and shivering with need within a few heartbeats. He moans protest when Lucifer pulls back, gasping for air. Lucifer shushes him gently, resting their foreheads together.

“You’re making my brain melt, Sammy,” the older man breathes, and Sam manages a breathless laugh.

“Mission accomplished then,” he tells Lucifer. “God, I’ve wanted you forever, feels like. Please don’t make us wait any longer.”

Lucifer kisses him again and this time, it’s soft and sweet. “Call me a romantic,” he murmurs, his large hands still cupping Sam’s head, “but I’m not going to fuck you for the first time tied up on a prop sofa in my studio, Sammy. I want you spread out in my bed, and I want to take my time with you. Yes?”

Sam shivers all over at the rough promise in Lucifer’s voice. And while he wouldn’t mind getting taken like this, when the man one has been crushing on for months offers to bring one to his bed and take his time, what else can one say?

“Yes,” Sam breathes.

The walk to Lucifer’s bedroom is a weaving, halting affair and it’s probably a minor miracle they don’t crash into any furniture or walls on their way considering they can’t (and don’t want to) stop kissing each other. From the moment Lucifer undoes the rope around Sam’s arms and helps him up from the sofa to them stumbling through the door into Lucifer’s bedroom, they don’t part except for quick gasps for breath.

Sam clings to Lucifer’s shirt with both hands, feeling a little drunk with the knowledge that it’s not a fantasy this time. The arms wrapped around him are real, the mouth kissing up and down his throat is tangible.

Lucifer guides him over to the bed, and because Sam isn’t letting go, they sink down onto the mattress together and half-crawl, half-push their way into the middle. Lucifer rolls them until Sam is beneath him and proceeds to kiss him senseless again. Sam has absolutely no objection to that, kissing back enthusiastically and whining protest when Lucifer finally breaks the kiss.

“Hush,” Lucifer murmurs against the skin of his neck, and oh, rubbing his slightly stubbly cheek against that spot is just _cheating._ “I said I was going to take my time with you, and I will do just that.”

“Yes, please,” Sam whispers, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself. He manages to let go of Lucifer’s clothing and stretch out beneath him. Lucifer groans softly and dips his head down to start the torturously slow exploration of Sam’s neck and chest and abdomen.

He keeps his promise about taking his time, too. Sam moans and pleads and writhes under hands and mouth as Lucifer touches and kisses seemingly everywhere but where Sam needs it most, his hard dick studiously ignored until he’s a writhing mess on the sheets. Only when his voice breaks on a plea does Lucifer raise his mouth from where he was sucking a path of hickeys along the crease of Sam’s thigh and look him over.

“Gorgeous,” he rasps, and Sam flushes and spreads his legs further. He shouts and arches up when Lucifer wraps a long-fingered hand around his cock and starts to slowly stroke. “Oh, I’m going to have that in me sometime, Sammy,” his lover breathes, watching his own hand glide up and down. Sam moans and fights to keep his eyes open, needing to see it’s really Lucifer with him this time, not his own hand. “Please,” he gasps out, rocking up into Lucifer’s slow rhythm.

“Please what, darling?” Lucifer asks softly, still stroking him oh-so-good. “Use your words.”

Sam grits his teeth against the pleasure of that skillful hand on his cock. “Want you inside me,” he manages. “Please Luci.”

Lucifer’s eyes darken further, and Sam shivers in response. “Oh yes,” his lover breathes. Sam mewls protest as the hand stroking his cock disappears, but then Lucifer starts stripping, and he forgets the burning arousal for a moment to watch as a strong, slightly muscular body is revealed. Sam licks his lips and makes a note to take his time exploring that at some point, to give Lucifer a taste of what that feels like – but not right now. Lucifer is shedding his jeans and underwear in one go, and Sam makes a hungry little sound at his first sight of what’s soon going to be inside him. Lucifer stretches to the bedside table and comes back with lube and condom packets.

“I’m not taking any risks,” Lucifer murmurs. Sam nods, his gaze flicking over Lucifer’s body, and Lucifer watches him with a little smirk, leaning back on his heels to let Sam look his fill.

Lucifer’s not quite as big as Sam is, but he’s bigger than the toy Sam likes to use, and he shivers at the thought of how open he’ll feel once he’s impaled on it. Sam swallows and spreads his legs wider in invitation, shifting impatiently.

“Hungry little thing, are we?” Lucifer teases with a chuckle, crawling back up over Sam, and Sam is about to protest that there’s nothing little about him, thank you very much, but before he can do more than open his mouth, he’s being kissed again. He loses himself in the kiss and twitches in surprise, then moans encouragement when a slick fingertip rubs over his hole in insistent caresses.

Lucifer pulls back, ignoring Sam’s attempts to keep them mouth to mouth, and watches him hungrily as he slowly pushes in with one finger, and Sam moans and arches and lets Lucifer see how much he likes it. His lover takes his sweet time in opening him up, too, waiting until Sam is writhing and begging to add a second finger. Sam mewls and tries to rock back and finds himself pinned by Lucifer’s knees at his thighs. “Please,” he breathes, “please Lucifer, I’m not going to break, I need more!”

“Patience,” Lucifer purrs, but he does speed up the gentle thrust of his fingers into Sam’s hole, drawing hungry little mewls and moans from Sam. He’s thorough, using first two and then three of his long fingers to stretch him open. When a fourth flirts with pushing in, Sam whimpers and finally lets his head fall back, staring at the ceiling.

“Please, Lucifer, just take me already, I swear I’m ready!”

“But you make such beautiful sounds on my fingers,” Lucifer murmurs, “and look so good stretched around them…” He pushes in with that fourth finger, and Sam yells and clenches down around them, trembling. Lucifer curses softly and pulls his fingers back, earning himself a needy mewl from Sam. “Just a second, Sammy.”

Sam moans softly at the rustle of foil being ripped open and manages to lift his head again to watch Lucifer roll the condom down over his dick. His hole clenches eagerly on nothing, and he feels utterly wanton, spread out the way he is in Lucifer’s bed, his legs splayed as wide as possible. “Please,” he whispers.

“Shh, darling.” Lucifer leans back down over Sam and nudges his cock against the relaxed opening. “I’ve got you. Deep breaths for me, Sammy.”

Sam could argue he’s no blushing virgin, but that would mean even more time without him having Lucifer’s cock inside his hole as far as it can go, so he just takes a deep breath and promptly loses it on a moan as Lucifer pushes in. He _is_ bigger than Sam’s toy, and the stretch burns perfectly even after Lucifer’s thorough preparation. He can hear Lucifer groan and breathe a curse, but his lover doesn’t stop until he’s flush with Sam’s ass, buried as deep as possible. Sam gasps for breath and clings to him, and Lucifer helps him guide his legs around his hips to hold on even more.

They rest like that for a moment, the urgency gone from Sam’s mind now that he has Lucifer inside him, really with him. He turns his head to kiss Lucifer’s cheek, and then Lucifer turns his head too, and they’re kissing again, slow and deep. Sam moans when Lucifer starts to slowly rock his hips into him but doesn’t feel the need to beg for more. The slow pace is perfect, it allows him to really feel the length and thickness of Lucifer inside him, and he lets Lucifer direct the pace as he wants, moaning softly every time Lucifer pushes in.

Of course, the slow, sweet pace doesn’t hold forever. Eventually, Lucifer’s movements gain urgency once more, and Sam starts to plead for “harder, please,” between kisses. Lucifer gives him what he asks for, shifting his weight until he can thrust into Sam at a harder, faster pace that has them both moaning and panting within a handful of thrusts. Lucifer frees one hand from holding himself up and uses it to angle Sam’s hips, and on the next thrust in, Sam screams and clenches down hard on Lucifer, who groans. “Found it, hm?”

“Yes, oh fuck yes, please don’t stop,” Sam whimpers, clawing at the bedding and Lucifer’s arm by his head. “So good, please keep going!”

Lucifer does, ducking his head back down to keep kissing Sam as he moves, and Sam reaches down with his free hand to finally stroke his cock. He shivers hard at the first touch and knows he won’t last much longer, but Lucifer’s movements are starting to get just a little erratic, so Sam allows himself to let go. He’s coming a couple of strokes later, moaning into their kiss as his body clenches down around Lucifer and he spills hot and sticky over his fingers.

Lucifer keeps fucking him through his orgasm, prolonging it until Sam is a wrung-out, pliant mess beneath him, still moaning softly on every thrust in. Only then does he bury his face where Sam’s neck meets his shoulder with a groan, and Sam holds him tightly as Lucifer shakes through his orgasm.

Hazily, he thinks he can’t wait until they can get rid of the condoms.

A while later, they’re cleaned and curled up together under the covers. Lucifer’s bed is as decadently comfortable as Sam remembers, and with Lucifer’s arms wrapped around him, it’s even better.

The photographer runs a gentle hand up and down Sam’s back, and he’s almost lulled to sleep when Lucifer starts talking.

“That shoot we did today… there’s no client, is there? Gabriel cooked that up.”

Sam chuckles and burrows closer, enjoying being held. “That was my idea,” he admits. “Gabe told me you were… interested, but I needed to see it for myself.”

Lucifer snorts and shakes his head. “Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he murmurs. “I shudder to think what you’ll come up with for revenge.”

Sam hides a smile against Lucifer’s chest. “Duly noted,” he promises, then pauses, a bit hesitant. “Luc… do we need to talk about… this? Between us, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Lucifer tells him on a long sigh, tugging Sam closer. “We do. But not tonight, Sammy. Reality can come knocking tomorrow. Tonight’s unreal.”

“Alright.” Sam snuggles in happily and closes his eyes, falling asleep in Lucifer’s embrace. He’s warm and well-fucked and cuddled up to his lover, so tonight everything is perfect.

He can worry about everything else tomorrow.


	6. Epilogue - Five Years Later

Lucifer Alighieri looks up from his laptop and groans as his back protests. A glance at the clock shows him he’s been working without a break for almost an hour, so that explains his muscles’ protest.

What disturbed his concentration was the sound of his phone alerting him to a text message. Lucifer reaches for the sleek device, smiling as he sees the name of the message’s sender.

_Be there in ten minutes. Love you, Sam_.

Lucifer doesn’t text back, because Sam will be driving and not seeing his reply anyway. Instead, he powers down his computer and gets up, stretching as he does. As he reaches for his keys and jacket, his gaze is caught by the framed photograph sitting on his desk, angled in such a way only Lucifer can see it.

It’s a picture of Sam, naked, kneeling on a sofa with his back to the viewer and tied up with ice-blue rope, his head turned a little to the side to show just a bit of his profile. It’s the only picture Lucifer ever had printed where anyone other than him or Sam might identify him, but when he saw this image, he couldn’t resist.

Leaving his office, Lucifer is immediately surrounded by loud, driving music, laughter and the sound of many people having fun. _Il Volta_ is packed tonight, and Lucifer recognizes some of the regulars, but he doesn’t pause to chat, just waves and slips through the masses towards the staircase leading upwards into the entry chamber.

He’s almost the last to arrive. Gabriel and Balthazar are standing to one side, talking in low voices and holding hands as usual, and Raphael is watching them with a bemused smile.

Michael is standing next to Arthur Ketch, who looks rather nervous. Lucifer’s brother took his sweet time in making up his mind regarding the Detective, and this is the first time Arthur has joined them for a full family dinner. Lucifer has just decided to walk over to them and strike up a conversation when the big glass door is pulled open and Sam strides through, and as usual, Lucifer’s thoughts are temporarily derailed.

Sam wore one of his best suits today, and judging from the small, triumphant smile on his face, he was successful in ruining someone’s day. He doesn’t stop until he can wrap his arms around Lucifer, smelling just a bit of rain and the aftershave from this morning, and Lucifer breathes in deeply as he kisses Sam’s cheek.

“Hello, Sammy. Happy anniversary.”

His husband of two years laughs quietly, a happy little sound that warms Lucifer through and through.

“Happy anniversary,” Sam whispers back, squeezing him a little harder before letting go.

Hand in hand, they walk to join Lucifer’s brothers and their partners. Michael promised a delicious dinner today, and Raphael will probably have some kind of utterly decadent chocolate dish for them later. Lucifer looks forward to taking his husband home. He may or may not have recreated that scene he admired earlier in their living room, and he’s looking forward to watching the lust and need spread over Sam’s face.

But that’s for later.

After all, for a Dance with the Devil, one needs to be properly nourished first.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make an author's day! <3


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